


*Nsync does it again

by zaen (fiernazj)



Category: NSYNC
Genre: Humor, Implied Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiernazj/pseuds/zaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to *NSYNC GOES ONLINE. Bawdy humor, adult language, innuendo, more squabbling, and hilarious inner turmoil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. *Nsync Does it Again

***Nsync does it again**

_The sequel to[*Nsync goes online](http://users.erols.com/zaen/nsync/online1.html) _

by Zaen

 

            “Joey…Joey…hello?  Earth to Joe.  Are you having some kind of prolonged sex fantasy?” Chris asked as he waved his hand in front of his bandmate’s spaced-out face.  The five members of *Nsync were all babbling to each other in a limo after their _TRL_ appearance.  All but Joey, who was abnormally quiet.

            “Huh?  What?” Joey said confusedly.

            “Yep, sex fantasy, I knew it,” Chris commented.

            “Who is it with this time?” Justin asked, nudging his buddy with his elbow.  “The hottie from last night?”

            “Which one?” Lance said dryly.

            “So many conquests, so little time, so few types of penicillin,” JC stated.

            “Good one, dude!” Chris hooted surprisingly.  “You may have a sense of humor after all.”

            “Thanks—hey, shut up!”  They all laughed at their friend’s expense.  “I’d kick all your asses…but I don’t want to ruin my Dolce & Gabbana,” JC said, indicating his incredibly ornate eyesore of an outfit.

            “Dude,” Justin sighed, shaking his head, “you need help.”

            “Guys, you’ll never believe what I found out,” Joey said softly, as the limo pulled up to a red light.  They all turned to their friend in eager anticipation.  Joey whispered, “Remember the… _orgy_ story?”

            “I thought we agreed to never speak of that again,” JC said nervously.

            “I know, but—”

            “Let’s just forget about that night!”  Chris said as he crossed his arms defensively.

            “Yeah, but—”

            “I think I’m having recurring nightmares about it!” groaned Lance.

            “But I found out who wrote it!” Joey yelled.

            “Who?” shrieked the other four delightedly.  Just as Joey was about to speak they heard a loud honk.  They turned to see another stretch limousine pull up alongside theirs, and the back, tinted window come down.  It was the Backstreet Boys.

            “Oh my God,” Joey mumbled.  The other four guys looked at Joey, then to the five men in the other limousine, who shot their competition wide, mischievous smiles.  Just as the light turned green, Kevin gave the boys a wink, and their limo screeched off, leaving *Nsync’s in the dust.

            The boys were silent for a long time.  Finally, Justin spoke up.

            “So…it was…it was _them_ , wasn’t it?”  Joey shook his head yes, mortified.

            “What were they thinking?” Chris asked with a disgusted look on his face.

            “Did they think we wouldn’t find out?” JC replied.

            “I know,” Joey sighed.  There was another long silence.

            “So,” Lance said, “which part did Kevin write?”

 

            JC paced back and forth in his hotel room at 2 am.  He had been unable to sleep, so naturally he was extremely agitated.

            “Dammit!  Dammit!” he cursed to himself, or so he thought.

            “Would you shut up? I’m trying to sleep,” Chris mumbled from his bed.  “Oh, God, I’m starting to sound like you.  Shoot me if I start wearing feather boas.”  JC ignored the remark, which intrigued his friend.  “What, no snappy comeback?  No threat of sadistic violence?  Are you having a breakdown?”

            “I’m blocked.  I can’t get…nevermind!”

            “Well, have an Ex-Lax, unblock yourself and be quiet!” Chris rolled over and covered his ears with a pillow.  JC sat down at the desk, exasperated, and stared at his notebook computer blinking brightly in the otherwise dark room.  He read over the words typed so far on a page entitled “Generic love song #50.”

 

                        _We can’t go back to the way it was before_

_When you ignored me, and I thought you a ~~whore~~ bore_

_This is the way it should be now_

_Just accept it, girl—don’t have a cow_

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he whispered to himself, rubbing his eyes in hope that the lyrics would somehow be much, much better afterwards.

 

                        _Tonight is the night we’ll admit our love_

_Stars and angels smiling down from above_

_You don’t care about my fame, the glitz or the cash_

_I don’t care about your past—all I want is some slash_

“Oh…my…God.”

 

            Joey sat on his bed in his hotel room, balancing his notebook computer on his lap as he cradled his cell phone between his ear and shoulder.

            “What are you doing right now?” asked a female voice on the other end of the line.

            “Just reading over this script a friend emailed to me,” he said as he scrolled down some text.

            “Oh yeah?” she purred.  “So…what are you wearing?”  Joey stopped reading, eyebrows raised.

            “Nothing,” he lied.  “What are you wearing?”

            “Absolutely…nothing.”  Joey exited out of the script.

            “Really.  And why are you telling me this?” he inquired slyly.

            “Because I’d really like to—do you want me to tell you?  It’s naughty,” the woman said seductively.

            “Oh, yeah!” Joey placed his hands on the keyboard and started typing the woman’s words as she spoke.  She began describing in explicit detail just what she planned to do to him.  Joey giggled as he tried to keep up.

            “Hold up!” he yelled all of a sudden.  “C-u…is that with two n’s or just one?”  Just then the door opened and Lance walked in, looking preoccupied, and flopped down on his bed.

            “Hey, buddy,” Joey grunted, only looking up for a second before returning to his risqué text.

            “Who’s that?” the woman cooed.  “A friend of yours?”

            “Yeah,” Joey answered.  “Now, back to that strap-on thing you were talking about…were you serious about the size?  I mean, two inches in diameter is a lot—”

            “What’s he look like…your friend?” she asked curiously.  Joey didn’t follow.

            “I dunno.  About five-ten …usually blonde…goofy…nowhere as hot as yours truly.  Anyway—”

            “I bet you’d love it if he joined us…wouldn’t you?”

            “What??!!” Joey cried, looking at the phone in horror.  “What are you talking about?  He’s a guy!”

            “I know!” she giggled.  “I bet you’d love it if he pushed you on your back and—”

            “Hey!  I’m not paying you $2.99 a minute for that!” Joey screamed as he clicked the phone off and threw it down.  “Jeez, what’s with these women today?”

            “What was that about?” Lance asked, but sounded only mildly interested.

            “Just some dial-a—nevermind.  She was talking…I mean, she was describing—”

            “Yeah, phone sex, I get it.  I _have_ roomed with you before, you know,” Lance sighed, rubbing his temples.

            “Well…everything was going fine…and then she was all talking about how I’d like it if you—YOU, dude, not another chick—would…would…ugh, I can’t even say it.”  Lance looked at his friend nervously.

            “Ugh…that’s very…strange.  I mean, why would she say that?  I mean, that’s just like—”

            “Those slash stories, I know,” Joey sighed, lying back on the bed and placing the computer down delicately.  “I always thought women weren’t interested in watching guys together.  I guess I was wrong.”  Lance adopted his friend’s pose on his own bed, and they stared at the ceiling silently for a few seconds.

            “Do you ever,” Lance said slowly, “like, since that night two months ago…um… _read_ those—”

            “No!” Joey yelled emphatically.

            “Yeah, me neither.  Me neither.”  Lance turned red.

            “I mean…I might have… _accidentally_ …come across one or two,” Joey confessed after another long pause.

            “Yeah…like, if you just happen to be looking for something to read.”

            “Yeah!  And you just happen to be looking at the fan fictions.”

            “And you just happen to be looking at the NC-17 rated stuff,” Lance said hastily.  He and Joey glanced at each other quickly, then turned back to the ceiling.

            “But…you know…I always stop reading when it gets to the explicit slash stuff,” Joey said.

            “Yeah, me too,” said Lance.  “It’s not like its well written or anything.”

            “Nah.  Or like its… _interesting_ or anything!”

            “Course not.  Or like its titillating or anything.”

            “Or hot or anything—”

            “You wanna look up some stuff on fanfiction.net?”

            “Let’s do it.”

 

            Knock. Knock.

            “Hey, man,” Justin said as the door opened.  He’d been knocking for two whole minutes before JC answered.  “Are you guys still up?  I’m wired.”

            “It’s late,” JC whispered, looking very agitated.  “I’m trying to work on something, and Chris is—”

            “Trying to sleep!  Shut your piehole and go away!” Chris screamed from his bed.

            “What do you want, man?” JC asked, obviously irritated, and looking back at his computer.

            “I’m bored…I can’t sleep…I can’t keep still,” Justin said as he fidgeted.

            “Take a sleeping pill…and get out…NOW!” Chris grumbled, rolling over and shielding his eyes from the hallway light with his hand.  “Are you _on_ something?  Again?”

            “No way, man.  You know I treat my body like the temple it is,” Justin said proudly, before bringing a soft pack of Marlboro’s to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Ugh…must…have…control.”

            “Go away, Justin,” JC barked.  “I need to concentrate.  Go bother JoLa.”

            “Aw, c’mon,” Justin whined as he looked over JC’s shoulder.  “What are you writing anyway?”

            “Just working on some songs,” JC answered nervously.

            “Really?” Justin asked suspiciously, looking JC in the eye.  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were writing a—”

            “Good night!” JC yelled as he slammed the door in his friend’s face.

            “Is he gone yet?” Chris mumbled from his bed.  JC shook his head and returned to his laptop.  Chris sat up, now completely alert.  “So…what are you writing so diligently over there?”

            “Nothing.  Go to sleep,” JC said, not looking up from the screen.

            “I can’t sleep—the sound of your bony ass fingers on those keys is keeping me awake!”  Chris sighed and waited for the obligatory “fuck you” or “I’ll kick your ass”, but it didn’t come.  JC was completely enthralled in his work.  “How’s that slash story coming?”  JC stopped typing and turned completely red.

            “Wha…huh?” JC screeched.  “What do you mean?  I’m not writing—”

            “Give it up, dude.  I can see right through you.  Well, I’d be able to see right through you, if not for those incandescent vomit clothes you’re wearing!  Damn!”

            “You of all people should know fashion—”

            “Don’t even go there!  Anyway, that’s not the point.  Ever since we found out about Backstreet’s little secret earlier today, you’ve been acting real weird. Weirder than _usual_.  You just can’t get it out of your head, can you?  You and your… _intensity_ ,” Chris said triumphantly as he pulled the covers over his head.  “Spazz.”  JC was quiet for a bit.

            “Can…can you believe they wrote that?”

            “I know!” Chris yelled, jumping out of the bed.  “They must have sat around talking about it…having meetings about it…picturing us…in…different—”

            “Positions,” JC whispered, grimacing.  “Ugh…that orgy story was just…heinous.”

            “ _Anus_ is right.”  JC clutched his stomach.  “Anyway…it doesn’t get any less obscene after the second read.”  Chris winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

            “You…read it again?” JC said playfully.

            “Shit.  Look, I was bored, ok?  Dammit, I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Chris complained as he climbed back into bed.  After a minute, JC spoke up.

            “Um…I read it again, too.”

            “I knew it!  We must be sick in the head,” Chris whined, covering his head with a pillow.

            “I was browsing these slash sites…trying to understand why, exactly, these people like to imagine us…you know…doing…it!”

            “What are you, twelve?”

            “Don’t you wonder, though?  I mean—what does it mean?  Do you know how many sites on the web are dedicated to the supposed ‘relationship’ between me and Lance?”  JC said as he made quotation marks in the air.

            “Plenty.”

            “Tell me something, Chris,” JC said seriously.  “Do I give off…gay vibes?”

            “Good night!” Chris rolled over quickly and started snoring.

            “Asshole.” JC went back to his “work.”  After a few minutes, he found himself blocked again.

            “Chris?” he whispered.  “You still awake?”

            “No.”

            “I’m almost done with this songfic—can I ask you a quick quest—”

            “Just ask!”

            “Ummmm,” JC whispered, completely embarrassed, “what rhymes with ‘handjob’?”

 

            “Good God.  This writer is out of her mind!” Lance said, wide-eyed, as he and Joey finished chapter 15 of a *Nsync fanfic titled “You don’t have to be alive.”

            “How can someone so young describe such decadent sadomasochism in such detail?” Joey said.  “I think this writer—what’s her name— _WannaFatOneInMe_ _—_ said in her profile she was only 17.  I wasn’t thinking about stuff like this when I was 17!”

            “You were too busy chasing skirt when you were 17,” Lance replied dryly.  “Some things never change.”

            “Damn straight.”  Just then someone knocked at the door.  Lance and Joey shut up, waiting for perpetrator to go away, but he didn’t.

            “Hey…it’s me,” they heard Justin say behind the door.

            “Damn!”  Joey tiptoed over to the door as Lance closed the laptop.  When Joey saw that the incriminating evidence was hidden away, he opened the door a crack.

            “What is it, man?” Joey whispered, rubbing his eyes and faking sleepiness.

            “What are you guys doing?” Justin asked, craning his neck to try to see inside.  “I’m so tired I can’t sleep.  I need some stimulation.”

            “Um,” Joey said, scratching his head, “I think I have last month’s Penthouse somewhere in my suitcase—”

            “Not _that_ kind!” Justin protested as he pushed the door open a little.  “Besides…I’ve already seen that one.”

            “We’re not doing anything interesting in here,” Lance said, and then blurted out, “just reading.”  Joey glared at him, and Lance almost slapped himself.  “I mean, uh…you know…work stuff.  Yeah…work stuff.”  Justin looked at the two very guilty faces in front of him and pushed himself all the way in the room.

            “I know what you guys are doing,” Justin said slyly.  “You’re reading slash, aren’t you?”

            “Are you kidding?” Lance said, red-faced, and then giggled uncontrollably.  Joey covered his face in shame.

            “I knew it!” Justin said accusingly.  “What, are you looking to see if _you know who_ wrote a sequel?  Don’t you think it’s a little weird to be reading this stuff?”  Joey and Lance looked at each other nervously.  “I mean, not that it _means_ anything…or that you actually want to _do_ that stuff, but—”

            “Justin…you look tired,” Lance said with fake concern.

            “Don’t try to change the subject!”

            “You should go get some sleep,” added Joey.  “Your eyes look really tired.”

            “You guys—really?  Do I look that bad?” Justin touched his face tentatively and looked around the room for a mirror.  “I can’t look bad.  I need my beauty sleep.  I’m seeing my boo tomorrow night!”

            “You’re right to be worried,” Joey said, rolling his eyes.  As Justin studied his face for signs of premature aging, Joey took something out of his bag.  He winked at Lance as he walked over to the anxious blonde and slapped him on the back.

            “Here, man,” he said soothingly. “Take these.  You’ll sleep like a baby.”  Justin looked down into Joey’s hand at 2 strangely colored capsules.

            “Joe, you know I don’t do drugs.”  Lance and Joey raised their eyebrows.  “Ok… _usually._   C’mon, I’m trying to be au natural these days, guys!  I like to take care of my body, know what I’m saying?”  Joey looked at Justin closely.

            “Man…is that a… _zit_?”  Justin’s eyes widened.  He grabbed the pills and ran out of the room without another word.  Joey laughed and closed the door.

            “What did you give him?” Lance asked as he balanced Joey’s computer on his lap. 

            “Just enough to knock him out and get rid of him,” Joey said with a smile.  When Lance made a disapproving face, Joey held up a small blue box.  “Nyquil gelcaps, my man.  Works every time.”

 

Chapter Two


	2. *Nsync does it again - Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

            Look at all these screaming girls. It doesn’t even matter that this moving platform is so far from their outstretched arms, we might as well be miles away. I can tell by their faces that they think they can grab us if they just try hard enough. Oh, shit. _And I will take you in my arms_ … Almost missed my cue. Interesting. Usually these girls stare at Justin the whole time, or Joey. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they’re all staring at me! Must be my imagination. Hmm…lots of “I love Lance” signs tonight. What city are we in anyway? Wow, that sign over there says…if I squint I can make it out. My God. It says “How BIG do they grow ‘em in Missi-fucking-ssippi??” What the hell? Do the guys see this?

            _I’ve loved you forever_ … Umm, why is JC staring at me while he’s singing? Usually he’ll stare out into space, or even close his eyes. But he’s staring right at me. In fact, so is Justin. And Joey! AND CHRIS! Why are they looking at me like this? Why are they coming towards me like this? Why in God’s name is JC falling to his knees and grabbing my legs???

            “’Til the day my life is through…I’M FREAKING IN LOVE WITH YOU!!” JC yells, looking up at me and holding onto my leg for dear life. WHAT?

            “What the fuck are you doing, man?” I say, pushing my microphone away and trying to shake him off me. “Are you high?” I try to fall back into the song, but I’m thrown off by Justin and Chris taking my hands and…holding them to their hearts?? This must be some sick joke! Ignore them, and just go into the chorus. _Just close your eyes_ —Joey! What the? Ok, Joey did NOT just come up behind me, put his arms around me and start rocking me back and forth! This is NOT happening!

            “Stop it! This isn’t funny!” I yell. I don’t even care about the microphone anymore. But Joey doesn’t let go, nor do the others. They just keep singing and smiling. This is surreal. I look out at the audience. Surely they must see that things are not going as planned. Surely they must be freaking out by now. Surely they must be—Backstreet Boys?

            “Lance! Lance! Over here!” I don’t believe it. A.J. McLean…at our show? He’s moving through the crowd and yelling at me. I don’t fucking believe this. He’s holding up a sign that says…shit. “Lance, let me show you the shape of my UKNOWWHAT!” Sweet Jesus.

            “Fuck off, Backstreet!” Chris hisses when he sees A.J. jumping up and down with his sign. “Lance is mine!” Whaaaat?

            “Alright, enough!” I scream and pull out of my friends’ tight grip. What are they doing? And I can’t even get away from them on this thing. “Stop it, guys! The fans will think you’re serious.” They just stare at me, smiling!

            “But I am serious,” JC sings—sings!—as he gets to his feet and walks towards me. “Every word I say is true, please be my Poofoo!” Is he insane? Am I? But he looks so sincere. This is not happening. I’ve gotta get out of here. And wouldn’t I know it, the platform has stopped moving forward. I’m trapped. The song is over, the music has stopped, and now Joey, Justin, Chris and JC are huddling around me…cuddling me?

            “Ugh, I just knew his skin would be soft! Like buttah!” Justin squeaks.

            “Hmm, this skin won’t be so soft after I’m done with it!” Joey says mischievously. He’s beginning to scare me. “Do you scar easily, baby? Should we forego the whips and chains?” I think I’m going to pass out.

            “Guys…why are you doing this?” I don’t even think they’re listening to me.

            “You’ll move into my place as soon as the tour is over,” Chris says, beaming, as he wraps his arms around me. “We can be married in Vermont by Labor Day!”

            “I…I don’t feel so good,” I manage to stammer.

            “You guys better just give it up,” says JC as he tries to pry Chris’ vice-like grip from me. “Lance is mine, and we all know it! Everybody knows it! The _fans_ know it!” Huh?

            “What the _fans_ know is that Lance belongs with me!” Joey screams, pushing JC away roughly. “We look great together, and we’re both _thespians_!” I am so bewildered, I can’t even fight as Joey gives me a huge bear hug and whispers in my ear, “I say we do some soft porn for Cinemax. Or maybe PayPerView?” JC looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He’s actually putting up his fists. Could this all be for _Bloopers and Practical Jokes_?

            “C’mon, fat one. Let’s go!” And now Joey and JC are…sigh…fighting over me. Throwing punches, wrestling, pulling hair. And the audience is loving this! The screams are deafening.

            “Stop it, guys! This is ridiculous!” I yell at them, but they keep fighting. I look at Justin, who is massaging my very tense neck.

            “Don’t worry,” he says softly, but somehow I can still hear him over the din of the audience. “They’ll come around. Eventually they’ll have to accept us as a couple—”

            “Couple? Are you mental? We’re not a couple, Justin!”

            “Of course not! _We’re_ a couple,” Chris says happily as he embraces me again and lays his head on my shoulder. “I think we should buy a farm in Montana and raise sheep—”

            “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I scream, disgusted.

            “That’s what I’d like to know!” I look down into the audience to find the owner of the voice. It’s Kevin Richardson yelling up at us. Figures. “I think ya’ll had better take your hands off my man before I come up there and whoop your asses!”

            “Tell ‘em, Kevin!” screams another new voice. My head starts to pound as Nick Carter pops up next to Kevin. He smiles at me and holds up a very large sign reading “Lance, show me the meaning of being horny!”  

            “Forget him, baby, it’s all about us!” Justin says as he wraps his arms around my legs and sits on my feet. “We rank _third_ hottest couple according to Boyband Fan Fiction Writers of America—right after you and Joey!” What? Wait a minute—

            “So what?” Chris adds, clutching me tighter. “The older fans love me and Lance together! _They_ have taste!”

            “Please…stop this, guys. I don’t think this looks good,” I say calmly as I try to squirm out of my bandmate’s hold. “Think of the fans!”

            “Honey, listen to your fans,” Justin says as he strokes my legs. Looking down into the screaming faces of teenagers, young women, and even some older people, I can finally comprehend what they’re yelling. I can see their mouths forming the same word over and over and over again. They’re chanting. All of them…thousands of them…in unison…stomping their feet and chanting.

            “Slash! Slash! Slash!”

            Throat is dry. Can hardly move, paralyzed with fear. Have surely gone insane. Think I am…yes, I am crying.

            “Hey, don’t be like that,” JC says, limping towards me, clutching his bruised eye. What’s he done to—Joey’s completely knocked out. Who would have thought _he_ could defeat Joey? I guess he really does love me. What am I saying??

            “Don’t come any closer, Josh, I mean it!”

            “I’m just trying to give the people what they want, baby,” he says smugly. I can’t even move, I’m being held so tightly. And now…God help me…JC is leaning towards me. “After all—we’re number 1!” Can this be happening??

            “Hey, Lance…wake up!”

 

            “What? What’s going on?”

            “You’re having another nightmare, man,” Joey sighed as he rubbed his eyes.

            “I…was?” Lance whispered, trembling. He opened his eyes and sighed thankfully at the sight of the dark hotel room. “I _was_! Thank God!”

            “You were babbling about sheep farms and…I think you said something about JC beating me up,” Joey said as he rolled over in his bed. “Are you outta your mind?”

            “Not anymore,” Lance said firmly as he scuttled out of bed and rummaged through the desk. He quickly sat down and began scribbling on a legal pad.

            “What are you doing?” Joey said groggily, but fell back asleep before hearing a reply.

Chapter Three


	3. *Nsync does it again - Chapter 3

*Nsync does it again

Chapter Three

 

            “Next!  Who’s next?  C’mon, people, we don’t have all day here!”

            Oh shit.  I’m next!

            “Sorry…that’s me.”  Dammit, I sounded like a total wimp.  Oh well.  I scuttle over to where a spotlight illuminates the floor.  I look out into the blackness in front of me, to see the owner of the irritated voice, but to no avail.

            “Name!” the voice yells.

            “Joey.  Um, Joseph.  Fa—”

            “Fine, fine.  Professional background?”

            “Well, I used to be—”

            “Uh-huh, uh-huh.  And why do you want this part?”

            “Well, I think it would be great experience for me, and I—”

            “Super.  Ok, what have you prepared for us, Joel?”

            “That’s Joey.”

            “Whatever.”  Good grief.

            “I am going to do a monologue from one of the finest films in cinematic history.”

            “Great.  Whenever you’re ready.”

            Calm yourself, dude.  Just breathe.  Breathe.  Close your eyes.  Feel the character.  _Be_ the character.  Just open your mouth and _be_!  Act, baby, act!   

            “No…wire…hangers!”

            “Thank you, Mr. Fat-one!”

            “But I haven’t even gotten started!”  I can hear whispering.

            “Well…on second thought, we’d like you to read for another project of ours.  Do you think you’d be interested?”

            “Yes! Yes!”  Out of the darkness, someone tosses some pages into my outstretched hands.

            “Here is the script.  Your character’s name, oddly enough, is Joey.”

            “Ok, ok,” I say.  Cool beans. 

            “Joey is in his twenties and from the East Coast.  He’s an entertainer, in a band.  He’s very charming, very good looking, and very lucky with the ladies.  Do you think you could handle that kind of character?”

            “Yes, I think I can.”  Like taking candy from a baby.

            “Ok, we’ll start on page 3, scene 2.  I’ll read the part of Joey’s bandmate and friend, Chris.”

            Wow, what a coincidence.

            “Let’s begin,” the voice says.  “ _Hey, Joey, what’s up_?”

            “ _I’m about to get into the shower.  Gotta hot date, as usual_ ,” I read, perfectly.

            “ _You’re such a stud!”_

            “ _I know_.” I mime removing my clothes, per the script.

            “Um…Mr. Fatone?”

            “Yeah?” I ask quizzically.

            “What are you doing?” the voice asks, irritated again.

            “I’m…following stage direction.  You know, taking off my clothes—”

            “I guess I didn’t make myself clear.  This is an _audition_.  We need you to really _act_!  We need to see if you can really sink your teeth into this character.”

            “But—but—”

            “Look, if you don’t want the part—”

            “No! No!  I can do it!”  What the hell?  I thought only women got the casting couch.  Get yourself together, dude!  You need this.

            “Whenever you’re ready,” the voice sighs.  Hate the voice.  Heard it before?

            “ _I’m…getting in the shower_ ,” I say slowly as I pull my shirt up over my head.  I better get this part.

            “ _You’re such a stud_!”

            “ _I know_.”  I toss the shirt to the floor.  And wait.  For the voice’s next line.  But all I hear is whispering.

            “Um…is everything ok?” I squeak.

            “Fine, Joey, just waiting for you…to finish.”  Huh?  I assume he—they?—can see the confused look on my face.  “You see, Joey, the character has to be _naked_ before entering the shower, of course.”  Oh God!  Is this my punishment for Daytona Beach 1999?

            “You…can’t be…serious?”  Silence.  Then more whispering.  Then the damn voice again.

            “Yeah…uh, who’s next up?  Ooh! James van der Beek!  Love his work—”

            “Ok! Ok!” I scream.  I’m killing my agent after this, I swear to God.  Alright, just take a deep breath.  Think: Superman can do it, and so can I.  Repeat.  Unzip.  Repeat.  Superman will not fold under pressure!  Push down.  Breathe!  Superman does NOT lose out parts to fucking Dawson!  Breathe!  Kick clothes aside! Breathe! Superman does NOT get hard in public—

            “Very good, Mr. Fatone.  Now, we can continue,” the fucking smug voice says.  “ _Hey, Joey, you sure got it where it counts_.”

            “ _I know, Chris.  I’m the man_!” I read, trying to act.  Who wrote this?

            “ _Tell me something.  Do you only share the wealth with girls, or are you an equal opportunity benefactor_?”

            “ _Well_ ,” I read, turning the page, “ _why don’t you come over here and find out…Chris_.”  Gulp!  Is this typed correctly?  Dammit, just read it!  “Uh… _I got enough to go around for you and everybody else in…our… group_.” 

            “ _Oh yeah?  All four of us?  You wanna take us all on, Joey_?”  Four?  What?

            “ _Yeah…even little…Justin_??”  I look out at darkness, but still can see nothing for the spotlight.  Must just be a huge coincidence.  Must be!  Just read, Joe.  “ _Let’s go.  All of us, right now_!”  Use fists, I am the character, method acting!  “ _I can go all night_!”

            “We shall see…Mr. Fatone.”  Then silence.  Must kill acting coach as well.

            “Um…it says in my script that you’re supposed to…um...open a door and…uh…three more…uh…naked…guys come in.  Uh…is my reading over?  You know, I also sing!  And dance!  Hello?  Hey, I used to watch ‘Fame’ all the time!  Hello?”  I hear whispers, then…giggling?  All of a sudden 4 more spotlights appear to my left. 

            “Alright gentlemen,” the voice says authoritatively.  “It’s time!”

            “What the—” but I stop suddenly when Justin, JC, Chris, and Lance come out of… _nowhere_ …and into the other four spots.  Naked.  Each of them using scripts to hide their shame.  Holy Kryptonite.

            “What the hell are you guys doing here?” I try to say through a clenched smile.

            “Joey,” Chris says nervously, “we’ve already been cast.”

            “Cast?  What is this?”

            “Just go along with it,” Lance says meekly.  “Don’t make it any worse than it already is.”

            “What in the name of Jor-El is going on here?” I scream.  This doesn’t make any sense!

            “Ok, guys, let’s do a read from scene three,” the voice says plainly, as if five naked pop stars shivering on a dark stage holding typed pages over their privates is just an everyday thing.  I look at the others, and they just turn the pages, defeated.

            “I didn’t know you guys wanted to act, too!” I whisper to Justin.  He looks at me with scared eyes.

            “ _Act_?”

            “And…action!” the voice says, happily.  Damn him.  I look down at my page where scene three starts.  Oh my God.

            “ _You gave it to me good_ , _Joey_ ,” JC reads mechanically, turning blood red.  “ _I do not think I will be able to sit down for a week_.”

            “ _Yes, and me, too.  I will be your…bitch…anytime_ ,” Lance says softly, cringing as he reads his line.

            “ _You will have to wait in line, Lance_ ,” Chris reads, rolling his eyes as he continues.  “ _Because I want to be Joey’s bitch.  Every night.  Forever_ ,” he spits out, pissed off but trying to hide it.  “Ugh, sweet fancy Moses.”

            “ _But how can I decide who I will take first?”_ I read, almost gagging _.  “You guys are all so delectable and pretty and have such big_ —Good God!  This is sick!  What kind of movie is this?  Who the hell brought us here?” I scream, throwing the script down.

            “Shhh…don’t make them mad, Joey!” Justin whispers.  “Or else they’ll make us rehearse scene 4!” he says, looking terrified as he points on the page to the words _in all the way up to his wrist._ What the fuck?  Hey, why does that sound so familiar?

            “This is ridiculous!  I don’t need the work that badly,” I yell.  “I can always go back to work at Disney!”

            “But Joey,” the voice says slowly, “you have no choice.  This is our script, and you’ll do whatever we say!”  And then I hear laughter.  Not just one man, but several.  I squint out into the darkness, and now I can see a bit better.  Out in the audience…five men sitting at a desk…laughing their asses off.  Sweet Jesus.  It’s the Backstreet Boys.

            “C’mon, guys, let’s see some action!”  AJ yells from the desk as the house lights come up and we all wince at the brightness in our eyes.  “Don’t be shy!”

            “Yeah…I want to see JoLa do scene 5.  I wrote that part myself!” Nick Carter says proudly.  I look at Lance confusedly.

            “You don’t want to _know_ what’s in scene 5,” Lance says timidly, blushing.  “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal in Mississippi.”

            “Dude,” Chris says, “scene 5 is illegal _everywhere._ ”

            “C’mon, we don’t have all day here,” Kevin growls.  It was his voice all along.  I should have known.  “Let’s go!”

            “What do you want from us?” I yell as I pick my script up from the floor to cover myself. 

            “Hello?  What’s the title of the script, doofus?” Howie says.  I look at the cover page.  It’s just one word.

            Slash.

            “You mean…this isn’t a movie audition?” I can be real slow sometimes.

            “Let’s just get this over with,” JC says…coming closer.  So is Chris.  And Justin.  And Lance. 

            “What do you think you’re doing?”

            “Scene 6.  It’s the least…explicit,” Justin says, taking my hand.  “And there aren’t any…uh…props.”  Chris and JC shake their heads in accord and take each other’s hands.  We’re standing there, in a circle, holding hands, naked.  What the fuck did I do in life to deserve this?

“Looks like we underestimated you, Superman!” yells Brian.  I turn around and see those Backstreet fuckers laughing and AJ collecting $5 bills from the other four.  “Who woulda thought that _Chris_ was packing the most heat?”  I can’t even look.

            “Hmmm…maybe there _is_ a silver lining,” Chris says, smiling like a motherfucker.

            “Width, baby, width,” Justin mumbles. 

            “Maybe some of us are grow-ers, not show-ers!” JC snaps.

            “I do not believe this is happening,” I say, trying not to look at the other guys below the waist.  “And why do we have to do this, just because _they_ say so?”

            “You’re drooling,” Lance says.  I turn to look at him.  He’s fully dressed.  He’s holding a toothbrush.  He’s…10 feet tall?

 

            “What?” Joey mumbled as one eye flew open.

            “You’re drooling on your pillow again, Joe,” Lance said as he peered down at Joey, who was lying flat on his stomach with his mouth agape, his face in a pool of spittle on his pillow.

            Joey sat up, looked around him, and then smiled thankfully.  “Thank God!  I’m in my hotel room.  _Not_ naked.  _Not_ on display.  _Not_ about to engage in _who knows what_ with my friends.  Hallelujah!”

            “What?” Lance asked. 

            “Oh…man!  I just had the weirdest fucking dream!  No, nightmare!  What did I eat tonight?” Joey asked as he wiped his face.

            “The usual—everything.”

            “Har de fucking har.  It was awful.  Remind me not to read any slash before bed!”

            “Uh…why?  What did you dream about?”

            “Nothing.  Nevermind.  Oh, and that film the two of us were gonna to do together—fuck it!”

 

Chapter Four

 


	4. *Nsync does it again - Chapter 4

*Nsync does it again

Chapter four

 

            What? Where am I? Why can’t I move my arms and legs? Why can’t I see anything? Why am I talking to myself?

            “Welcome, Chris.”

            “Who said that?”

            “I did.” Suddenly a faint light comes out of nowhere, and out of the seemingly endless blackness I can see a woman. She’s wearing some kind of black leather bondage gear and thigh-high spiked boots. She’s got a hot little body on her, too. Jackpot! “You’ll be staying a while, so you might as well get used to it,” she says.

            “What do you mean?” I try to move, but…I’m tied up. My wrists and ankles are bound with thick rope and tied to…to…I can’t even see. It’s too dark. All I can see is the woman in front of me. But not her face. It’s covered with a black leather executioner’s hood. I can only make out her deep red lips and piercing blue eyes in that thing. Good gawd!   “Hey, uh, do I know you? Have we done this before? Because, you know, I usually like to be the one doing the tying up!” What? No laugh? Not even a giggle? Instead she shows me what’s behind her back. Oh God. It’s a whip. “Hey, are you sure you don’t have the wrong guy?   This seems more up Joey’s alley!”

            “You think you’re a real funny guy, don’t you?” she says as she unfurls the thing. It must be 6 feet long! Stay cool, man.

            “Is this a trick question?” She’s walking behind me. Think fast. “I suppose if I say yes you’ll give me a whack…but if I say no, then you’ll—”

            CRACK! Right on the back of my calves!

            “Shit! That hurt!”

            “Oh, you’re so smart, Chrissy!” she laughs.

            “I…am? Oh, yeah, I am!”

            “I wonder what your Psych book would say about me?”

            “Well, probably that you’re a sadistic bit—”

            CRACK!

            “Owww! Hey, I was trying to compliment you! I _like_ sadistic bitches!”

            “Oh, Chrissy, you’re so much fun to play with. Not like your wimpy friends. They broke after the first sign of blood.”

            “What? Who? What did you do?” Hey—I _can_ rhyme! Up yours, JC!

            “See for yourself.” She walks to my right, hits a switch, and suddenly a large pink box appears about fifty feet from me. It’s a life-size doll box, like the ones we used in the video. Huh?

            “Where did you get that, Ebay? Damn!” Why does this girl love to whip me so much?

            “Pay attention, Chrissy, or you’ll end up like your friend Justin!”

            “Justin? But I don’t see anything in that box except—holy shit!” Indeed there is someone in the box. Standing still as a mannequin, dressed in a Chicago Bulls #23 uniform, and sporting what must be a 10 inch afro—a _real_ afro. My God. Chocolate skin, dark brown eyes, same hard as nails body, damn him. I’d recognize him anywhere. It’s Justin…and he’s…Black.

            “Wha…what…what did you do to him! He’s Black! I mean he’s _really_ Black. Not just in his wildest dreams Black, but _really_ Black!”

            “Ha ha ha. That one was great fun!” she smirks, cracking the whip in the air.

            “But…how?” I implore this insane woman. “Is he…dead?”

            “No, I’m not dead, fool!” I look back and now Justin has come to life. He bangs his fists against the plastic front of the box. “Get me outta here!”

            “Can’t you see I’m tied up here?” I scream at him.

            “I don’t care—get me out!” he screams, then stops as he looks at his hands. “What…the hell…Chris? What happened? What did that psycho do to me?”

            “I didn’t do anything to you…except make you better!” she laughs as she walks over to Justin and holds up a huge mirror. Justin screams when he sees his face.

            “Don’t worry, little guy,” I try to say comfortingly. “As soon as we bust outta here, we’ll find a way to fix you back—”

            “Fix me back? Fuck that! I look _good_!” He smiles as he pats down his gargantuan coif and touches his new, Afrocentric features. “I can work with this. I can definitely work with this.” Unbelievable. He’s not even fazed.

            “Yeah, well,” I stammer, transfixed by Justin admiring himself in the mirror, “even so, we still need to get out of here!”

            “Yeah,” Justin says to the mystery woman. “I mean, uh, _thanks_ , but you still need to let us go…ho.”

            “What about me? Help me too!” The voice is coming from a few feet to the right of Justin. The woman cackles and hits another light, illuminating another large doll box. It’s Joey. And he’s wearing a French maid’s uniform. With fishnet stockings. And stiletto heels.

            “Joe…is there something you want to tell us?”

            “Shut up and help me out of this thing! That bitch is crazy! She lured me here, telling me she wanted to dress up in costumes!” Joey screams. “How was I supposed to know she wanted _me_ to wear it?”

            “You look pretty good,” Justin says, still struggling with his box.

            “Really?” Joey smiles. “I think I’d look better if I’d shaved my chest!”

            “I’m not trying to hear this!” I yell.

            “No, the chest hair works in that outfit,” Justin says thoughtfully. “But you really should have shaved your legs, man.”

            “Yeah, you’re right,” Joey sighs. “Oh well, next time. Hey, dude, did you know that you were Black?”

            “Yeah! Isn’t it cool?” Justin says with a smile. “I’m even more beautiful than before…if that’s possible.” Good grief.

            “But, Justin, man,” Joey says. “You won’t be able to get a cab in Manhattan anymore.”

            “And forget about speeding,” I mention. “You’ll be pulled over for DWB in your BMW—hey! Now you have to admit that was pretty fucking cool!”

            “Forget about it, Chrissy,” the woman hisses as she walks over to me. “Your talents lie elsewhere!”

            “Hey, how come he isn’t in a box?” Joey screams at her. “Did he kiss your ass? Did he lick your toes? ‘Cause…I can lick toes, baby!”

            “Shut up, Joey!” I yell at him. He can be real slow sometimes. I look into the crazy woman’s eyes, hoping to find some bit of reason…or sanity. “Look, ma’am, we just want to leave, ok? If you want, we can sign some autographs or…hey, I can hook you up with a year’s supply of lip gloss and chewy fruit snacks!”

            “Leave? You can’t leave, Chrissy? Where would I be without my fabulous *Nsync doll collection?” She sounds serious. She _is_ serious. She is a fruitcake.

            “Ma’am…lady…I’m sure our friends are looking for us right now,” I say as calmly as possible. “If you let us go, we’ll promise not to tell anyone. We can see that you need help, but if you don’t help us, we can’t help you.”

            “That was good, Chris,” Justin says. “Did you just think that up?”

            “Nah, saw it on a made-for-TV-movie.”

            “Naïve little Christopher,” the woman says as she strokes my face. “No one is looking for you—because the gang’s all…right…here,” she says wickedly, moving away from me and flicking yet another light. “Isn’t that right…Joshua?”

            “Mmmphhh…help me!” I hear someone squeak. I can’t keep my chin from dropping. Next to Joey sits another large pink box. This one, however, is much taller…and wider. It has to be…to accommodate the clothes…the costume—the very, very large and flamboyant costume—that JC is wearing. It’s white—no, off-white. It’s some sort of one-piece, late-Elvis jumpsuit thing, and it’s covered in clear sequins. And then there is the cape, the horrid, furry red white and blue striped cape draped around his shoulders. I bite my lip to keep from gasping as I take all of him in: the 6-inch platform boots, the towering, feathered, rhinestone-encrusted headpiece, the oversized glasses. I knew I recognized that outfit!

            “You malicious bitch!” I scream. “You’ve turned JC into circa-1977 Elton John!”

            “I think this may be my best work yet!” the woman hoots.

            “Dude…are you alright in there?” Joey asks, trying not to laugh.

            “Can’t…move…this…thing…too…heavy,” JC manages to mumble, his eyes wincing under the burden of that god-awful thing on his head. He looks as if he may topple over any second.

            “My man,” Justin says, shaking his head, “you look like Liberace on acid.”

            “Alright, this has gone too far!” I scream at the woman, who is now skipping around joyfully in front of her “doll collection,” oblivious to our pleas and my screaming and JC’s tears. “You let us out of here right now! Or you’ll be sorry, I promise you that!” The woman looks at me smugly.

            “Is that so?” She disappears into the darkness, but not too far, as I can still hear the clicking of those S&M boots on the cement floor.

            “Guys…I…I can’t handle this,” JC says, sniffing.

            “Just hold on man,” I say to him, but I can’t look at him when I say it. I know I’d burst out laughing.

            “Try not to think about it,” Justin says as he picks his afro out with his fingers.

            “But…but,” JC whispers. “I think I might…actually… _like_ this!”

            “Jesus God in heaven,” Joey mumbles, crosses himself, and readjusts the fishnets riding down his legs.

            “You’re one to talk!” JC whimpers as he dries his eye with one of the many feathers emanating from his “outfit.” “Look at you! At least I’m not wearing a dress!”

            “Yeah, well…at least I look sexy!”

            “He’s got you there, brother,” Justin chimes in. “Oh…I guess I can’t call you that any more.” He looks pensive. “D’ya think maybe now P-Diddy will return our calls?”

            “Gentlemen!” We all look over at the crazy woman. She’s standing in a newly lit part of the room/basement/dungeon/whatever the hell place we’re in. From the dark ceiling are suspended so many chains, straps, harnesses, bindings and leashes, it looks like Cirque du Soleil up there! And there’s some sort of sex swing that I think I saw once in the back of one of Joey’s magazines. In one hand she’s holding a black, foot-long, rubbery looking object. She hits it into her other hand, and it makes a terrible smacking sound. My God…I think it’s a leather dildo! Now I’m really afraid. She walks over to us, standing in the middle of this circle of torture. And as she walks around, waving the thing in the air, she _sings_.

            “ _And I will take / this in my hand / and flog you right here where you stand_!” She squeals with delight, the maniac. “ _Til your ass is black and blue / with_ this _I’ll punish you—”_

“You belong in a mental institution!” I scream at her.

            “Yeah…but you sound pretty good,” Joey says calmly.

            “I _should_ sound good,” she quips. “I’ve had enough practice…or, couldn’t you guys recognize my voice?” The four of us watch, perplexed, as she takes something out of her eyes, then unzips the side of the mask and pulls it slowly over her head. I think I’m gonna be sick. It’s _Lance_!

            “Ta da!” he shouts with his normal voice. “I had you guys completely fooled!”

            “Wow! It’s a boy!” Justin shrieks. “Thank God I didn’t let her touch me!”

            “How can you walk in those heels?” Joey asks with wide eyes.

            “Forget the heels—you look like a girl, man!” says a very astonished JC. “I mean you _really_ look like a girl! Where the hell did you…how did you…where’s Mr. Happy?”

            “Tucking panties, courtesy of RuPaul,” Lance says proudly. “But, damn if these things don’t hurt!” The four of them share a jovial laugh, much to my extreme amazement.

            “Hello? Am I missing something? Nutcase! Loony! Why are you guys laughing? Lance is insane, and you guys are laughing! Did I miss a meeting?”

            “No, Chris, we just wanted to get your attention,” Lance says as he walks over to the other guys and—releases them from their boxes! Chills run up my spine as my previous prison-mates easily step away from their cardboard shells and come towards me, though it takes JC a bit longer, what with those huge platforms and all. I don’t fucking believe this.

            “What should we do to him first?” Joey says wickedly.

            “Handcuffs, baby!” Justin replies.

            “I say we hog tie him and gag him with a jawbreaker!” JC says, almost losing his balance on those shoes.

            “That might suffocate him, dumbass!” Lance retorts as he removes his D cup falsies from his bustier. “Didn’t you see that movie?”

            “Guys…I can hear you,” I squeak.

            “Don’t call me dumbass, you freak!” JC says, shaking his beaded-glove covered finger at Lance.

            “Oh, I know you didn’t just call _me_ a freak, Philadelphia Freedom!”

           “Good one, Lance,” I can’t help saying.

            “Guys, c’mon!” Justin says loudly. Lance and JC stop bickering but continue to glare at each other. “Now…Chris, being way old, has only so much energy and stamina. So we’ll have to take turns with him.” EGAD!

            “What are you guys talking about?” I plead.

            “Well, I have first dibs,” Lance says. “This damn bustier is killing me, I gotta get it off!”

            “I can wait,” Joey says. “I like ‘em better when they’re beat down, anyway.”

            “Well, I want to go first, because I want to use that swing up there!” JC says.

            “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Lance says, looking pissed. “I said _I’m_ going first and that’s that!”

            “Did you guys hear that?” JC says sarcastically, holding his hand to his ear. “Was that the sound of bullshit talking?”

            “Alright, Rocket Man. Let’s go!” Who threw the first swing, I don’t know. All I know is that JC and Lance are fighting, leather and sequins flying everywhere, while Justin is enthusiastically pouring over _The Autobiography of Malcom X_ , and Joey is…watching porn on the TV?

 

            “Don’t put that there! I _need_ my ass!” Chris screamed as he sat upright in his bed. He’d been sweating profusely and tossing and turning in his sleep by the look of his bed covers. He wiped his brow, then checked himself for any sign of…invasion. Just in case. He looked over at JC, who was snoring like a jackhammer.

            “Oh…oh…this has got to stop,” he mumbled to himself. “I usually wake up right after the fishnets.”


	5. *Nsync does it again - Chapter 5

*Nsync does it again

Chapter five

 

            “Sshhh…you’ll wake him up.”

            “Pass it over, man!  Don’t bogart the whole thing!”

            “Damn, that’s good stuff.  Where’d you get it, Joey?”

            “From some chick I hooked up with when we went to Mardi Gras.  I made a little ‘Louisiana Purchase’ of my own!  He he he!”

            “I bet you’ve been working on that one for days, haven’t you?”

            “Pretty much.”

            “What are you guys whispering about back here?” I say, stumbling into the back of the bus.  “You guys woke me up out of a perfectly good sleep.  Hey, what’s that smell?”

            “Nothing, Justin, go back to your bunk,” Joey says quickly, hiding something behind his back.  I look at him and the others.  They look really…guilty.

            “Chris?”

            “What?”

            “JC?”

            “Why are you looking at me?”

            “Lance?”  Before I can even accuse him of anything, he doubles over, coughing out a huge puff of smoke.  The rest of them burst out laughing.

            “I knew it!” I say, holding my arms akimbo.  “You guys are smoking the cheeba!”

            “No we’re not,” Joey says matter-of-factly.  “We’re expanding our minds in an effort to stir our creativity and bond with our fellow musicians for the purpose of heightening our communal living experience.”  I look him in his very red eyes.

            “If this is a ‘band moment’, then why didn’t you invite me?”

            “Because…we’re wasted!” Chris says before falling to the floor in a fit a giggles.

            “Hey, look at me!” JC stands up and dances.  “ _It aint no lie, we’re high, high, high_!”  The other three fall out, laughing uncontrollably.

            “I don’t believe you guys!  And right here on the tourbus?  What if someone found out?  Think of what that could do to our careers!”

            “Shut up, mom!” JC cracks.  “I’ve gotta get my kicks while I’m still young and pretty and young and…what was I saying?”

            “Chill out, man,” Lance says, offering me a strangely shaped cylindrical thingamabob that I’ve only seen in crunchy tie-dye head shops.  “Have a hit.”

            “No way!  You guys know I don’t do drugs!  I’m on the pure and natural tip, yo!”

            “What are you, a douche?” Chris cracks up more.  “I gotta write that one down!”

            “I don’t want any part of this illegal activi—”

            “Yo!  A convenience store!  Hey, James, pull over!” Joey yells to the front of the bus.  “I needs me some snacks!”  The four of them rush past me, giggling the whole time, as the bus pulls into a Quik Chek parking lot.  Better follow so I can keep an eye on them.  Thank God there’s hardly anyone in there!

            “Doritos!  I need Doritos!” Chris squeals as he investigates the diaper and feminine hygiene aisle.  “Why don’t they have Doritos?”  He picks up a package.  “Who the fuck puts _wings_ on a corn chip, anyway?”  Is he serious?   I leave him to see what the others are doing.  Joey is busy filling a basket with as much junk food as he can carry.  Lance is fiddling with some nail polishes.  What is he—good grief.  I think he stuffed some in his pocket! 

            “Hey, look at this,” JC whispers, pulling me aside quickly.  He shoves a tabloid into my hands.  It says, “Pop stars and their secret lives” on the top and has pictures of celebrities with their faces blacked out underneath the headline.

            “So?” I say to JC, who looks quite disturbed.  “What about it?”

            “Don’t you see?” he says, his eyes darting about nervously.  “They… _know_!”

            “This is why you have to _just say no_ , JC!”

            “Hurry up, guys!” Joey screams at us from the checkout.  “This Chunky Monkey is gonna melt!”  Chris is standing next to him, still holding his “Doritos.”  JC, Lance and I join them and watch the checkout guy ring up and bag Joey’s copious purchases.  “If you want something you better get it now!” he says as he eyes his stash greedily.

            “Joe, I think you have enough for everyone,” I say as I take the maxi pads out of Chris’s hands.  Joey just shrugs and points to Lance and JC, who tosses 2 or 3 tabloids on the pile.

            “Nah…I’m good to go,” Lance says, smirking, as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

            “Are you crazy?” I whisper to him. “They’ll catch you!”

            “No they won’t,” he whispers back.  “I’m a pop star.”

            “That’ll be $39.97,” the register guy says.  Joey looks into his wallet.

            “Hey, um, you guys have any cash?” The other three shake their collective heads no.  Mother fuckers.

            “Ugh!  How much do you need, stupid?” I snap, taking out my wallet.

            “Um…thirty…thirty nine dollars.  And 96 cents.  I’ll pay you back, bro.”

            “You guys are working my last nerve!” Just as I slam the money down on the counter, Joey grabs the bags and the four of them run out the door, giggling like schoolgirls.  Sigh.  The checkout guy looks at me strangely as he hands back the change.  Oh, no.

            “Hey…aren’t you—”

            “Yeah.”

            “Wow, my little sister is totally in love with you.”

            “Yeah, thanks,” I say as I back away to the door.  He takes out a cellphone and hits a button.  Oh, God!  Get outta here, man!

            “Hey, guess what?”  I just make it out the door before hearing the kid say, “Dude…I just saw Ryan Phillipe!”  Must…unclench…jaw!  Resist…urge…kill…Joey! 

            “Alright!” I yell as I get on the bus.  “No one’s getting off this bus again until you’ve come to your senses!”  I turn to James, our wonderful, law-abiding faithful driver extraordinaire.  “Right, my man?”

            “Up yours, goody-goody!” He steps on the gas, and I’m flung headfirst into a pile of half-empty Cheetos bags.  The laughter coming from both ends of the bus stabs my ears like the _Micky Mouse Club_ theme song.  Must remind myself to seriously kick someone’s ass later.  When we’re once again speeding down the highway at a comfortable 70 MPH, I stand up and walk back to where the guys are tearing into their horde of junk food, sending plastic wrappers, chocolate jimmies, and crushed corn and/or potato crumbs flying everywhere.  I can’t believe the lack of couth.

            “Pass the Ho-Hos, ho!”

            “Gimme!  Gimme!”

            “Those are _my_ Funions, asshole!”

            “It’s just a Twinkie, man, don’t have a cow!”

            “You guys make me sick,” I mutter as I sit down in a comfy seat and put on my Discman headphones.  Take me away from this madness, J-Lo.  _If you want my love / If you want my heart / Here is the best place / To make a start / Don’t tote a gun / Don’t say things crass / ‘Cause boy, if you wanna love me / Love my ass_.  Sing it, girl.  What the fuck? 

            “Which one of you dipshits just pelted me with a snacky cake?” I scream as I jump out of my seat and run to the back lounge area. 

            “Who…me?” Joey asks as he licks his chocolate covered fingers.  I glare at him, and he points to Chris, who is busy taking a huge toke from the oversized sin-gadget.

            “I’m innocent!” Chris croaks with a held breath.  God, they’re all druggies!

            “You people need help!” I scream at them.

            “Guys…I don’t feel anything,” Lance states, staring out the window at the darkness.  “I just don’t feel anyth—wow, the stars are so bright!  And the bus is so…colorful!”

            “I know!  Isn’t it pretty?” Joey yells, not caring that huge globs of half-chewed junk food fall out of his mouth when he does.

            “I can hear the world turning, man,” Chris mumbles as he sits back and smacks his lips.  “I can hear the world turnin’.  Hey, Joey, did you put this cotton in my mouth?”

            “I don’t know,” Joey says thoughtfully.  “Maybe I did!” More giggling.

            “How can you guys sit there and laugh?” It’s JC.  He’s staring, wide eyed, at one of the tabloids he’d—I’d—bought.  “Don’t you guys realize that the press is out to get us?  They’ll find out _everything_!  They’ll find out what shampoo we use—where we send our dry cleaning—our pet names for our—they’ll find out about Joey’s superfluous nipple!”

            “Do you guys see what you’ve done?” I squeal, almost hoarse.  “He’s totally paranoid, not to mention out of his mind!”  I grab the tabloid from JC and rip it in half.  “Don’t pay attention to this shit!  It’s just lies, and Joey doesn’t even have a—”

            “You mean this?” Joey says.  He lifts his shirt to reveal…oh, God! 

            “Where…when…how?” I stammer, mesmerized by the…extra thing…on Joey’s chest just a few inches lower and to the right of the…original…normal ones.  “But…but you haven’t always had that!  Have you?”  Joey sits back and pats his tummy unflappably.

            “Don’t know,” he sighs, looking instead at the tiny pattern of his shirt.  “Hey, why are ants eating my shirt?”  Chris leans over and touches the…nubbin, emitting another fit of giggles from both of them.  “Dude,” Joey laughs sarcastically, “at least _kiss_ me when do that!”

            “Oh, stop it! Stop it!” I sit down, putting my head in my hands.  When I look up again, JC is examining the bottom of his shoe—while still on his foot.  Sweet fancy Moses.

            “Hello?  Hello?” he whispers into his shoe.  “I know you’re watching us.  I’m on to you, ‘Access Hollywood’!”

            “Please, guys, promise me you won’t do this again,” I plead, wringing my hands.  “I can’t take seeing you like this.”

            “What are you bitching about?” Lance says as he stands up and unloads his pockets.  He must have lifted half a dozen cheap, non-animal friendly cosmetic items.  “Why don’t you let me paint those oozing sores on your face with…’blushing harlot’ rouge?” he says coming towards me, staring at me with those alien-like green eyes that, at this moment, look even more alien-like.

            “It is one, insignificant pimple, and you touch me with that crap and I’ll punch you!”

            “The French Horn!” Chris screams into JC’s shoe.  “JC calls his _The French Horn_!”

            “Shut up!  Shut up!”  JC tries to kick Chris in the head, but instead kicks the shoe off his foot and…sweet Jesus…through a window.

            “Dammit!  You little rat bastards are gonna fix that yourselves!” James yells back at us.

            “Fuck you guys,” I spit as I head for my bunk.  “I don’t want to even look at you anymore.”  I push aside the curtain.  What…the…hell?

            “Hey, look at what Justin’s been hiding in his bunk!” Lance says, coming up behind me.  “You’re a sick fuck.”

            “But…I didn’t put this stuff—”

            “Where?  What is it?” Joey and Chris squeal, getting up and rushing over to stand next to me.  I can’t believe it.  There in my bunk, in plain sight, is a virtual goldmine of every type of drug paraphernalia imaginable.  Bongs, pipes, vaporizers, rolling papers, roach clips, syringes, whipped cream cans, balloons, razor blades, rubber tubes, and bags of stuff that I don’t even recognize.  And piles of money.  _Lots_ of money.  God help me.  I can’t go to prison!  I’m too pretty!

            “You hypocritical little shit!” Chris squeals as he looks over the stash.

            “Don’t touch it!” JC yells from the now broken window.  “Fingerprints are admissible evidence in court!”

            “Yeah, no reason for us to get sent up the river, too,” Lance says wryly, hitting me on the back.  “You’ll be missed, Justin.  I guess we’ll just be… _Sync_ now.”

            “You guys _know_ that this stuff is not mine,” I say sitting down before I pass out.  “Someone planted that stuff to frame me!  Someone planted it!”

            “Did they also plant this?” Joey says as he takes something from under my pillows.  He holds it up for me to see.  Sigh.  It’s _ButtBuddies_ magazine.

            “You guys are fucking with me!” I scream, my voice straining, as I return to my bunk.  I quickly fling the pillows out of my bunk.  Big mistake.

            “Justin!  You must have…two or three dozen gay porn magazines here!” Chris says, loud enough for the entire world and JC’s shoes to hear.  “You could’ve told us!”

            “Those…are…not…mine… _either_!”  I’m tired of shouting.

            “I knew it!” Joey says, taking a step back from me.  “He’s always…looking at me.  You know… _that_ way!”  Chris nods in agreement.  Traitor.

            “Dude,” Lance says, picking through the mini library of smut in my bunk.  “Is that why you have poppers in your stash of drugs?  For use with your perverted gay sex acts?”

            “Poppers?”  I whisper.  “What are those?”

            “Don’t play innocent, Justin,” Chris says.  “We know behind that youthful face, soft skin, pouty lips, and sparkling blue eyes lurks the mind of a lascivious, drug addicted, highly troubled…homo.”

            “I’m not gay.  I’m not a drug user.  And I’m not staying,” I say as I push past the others. I’ve gotta get out of here!

            “Not so fast!” JC grabs me.  His eyes are wild.  “You can’t go anywhere…until you’re debriefed.  If _they_ get a hold of your dirty little secrets, it could be the end for all of us!”

            “Let go of me! I told you guys that that stuff isn’t mine!  I don’t know where it came from, but it’s not mine.  I swear on my beautiful blonde curls!”

            “Oh yeah?” Lance says, bringing one of the magazines from my bunk over.  “Check out the centerfold.”  All five of us crowd around as I open the magazine up to the center page.  Oh…no…it can’t be… _me_?

            “I…I…help…I…” I can feel my knees giving out.  It’s like in slow motion.  I saw myself—was it me?  It looked like me!  But I’ve never been in that position before?  Not naked anyway!  But all my tattoos were there…and the birth marks.  Oh, God, what will my mom think?  And here I am, on the floor of the bus.  Those assholes didn’t even try to catch me when I fell!  They’re just standing over me, in hysterics over that damn picture.

            “Dude!” Joey yells down at me.  “You’re more flexible than I thought!”

            “You’ll be real popular when you’re in prison,” Chris says, staring at the picture.  “ _Real_ popular.”

            “It’s the drugs,” Lance says, looking at the others, “that cause that… _bend_.”

            “And to think we changed clothes in front of each other,” JC sighs.  “I feel like—wait!  What was that sound?” he whispers, looking over his shoulder.  “Did that sound like—a tape recorder?”

            “Please…please,” I can barely talk.  They ignore me and just keep looking at the picture and laughing.  Then they turn the page.  Another big mistake.

            “Shit!” they scream in unison.  “You…and the _Backstreet Boys_?”

            “Let me see!” screams James, who is, all of a sudden, standing right over me.  “Damn, boy!” he hoots. “You’re one horny little bastard!  Hairy, too!”

            “James,” Chris says calmly.  “If you’re back here…and we’re still moving… _who’s driving the bus_?”

            “SSSSSSSHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

            “Aarrgh!”  Justin screamed as he fell out of his hotel bed.  He opened his eyes and looked around at the darkness.  He breathed a huge sigh of relief.  As he got back into bed, he quickly pulled the waistband of his silk boxers out and glanced down.  “Thank God!  Straight as an arrow.  I am the man!” he grunted as he fell back into bed.  “I _knew_ I shouldn’t have taken Joey’s pills!” he sighed as he closed his eyes.  “I can get better shit from Britney.”

 

 

Chapter Six


	6. *Nsync does it again - Chapter 6

*Nsync does it again

Chapter Six

 

            “So, the album will be released in June, and we’re really, really excited abut it.  We’ve worked really hard, and we just hope the fans love it as much as the last one.”

            “And how is this album going to be different from _No strings attached_?”

            “Well…” Ugh, I hate these press conferences.  Same damn questions every freaking time.  If I have to hear Justin babble about “variety” and “multiple influences” one more time…  I’m so fucking bored.  Here we go: another “how has the success of *Nsync affected your personal lives?” question.  Poor Joey.  They always stare right at him when they ask that one.  Or Lance.  Or me!  Damn it.  What exactly do they expect me to say?  Well, actually, my private life is great.  I’m currently involved in a committed and stable relationship with my left hand?  Hmmm.  That’d make an interesting song.

            “Uh…can you talk to us about the live show?  We hear it’s going to be a spectacle.  How big is it going to be?”

            Chris holds his hands about a foot apart.  “This big.”  They laugh, but I don’t even think Chris was _trying_ to make a joke this time. 

            “How do you prepare yourselves for such a huge undertaking, physically and mentally?”

            “Green tea,” Lance says.  Wow, he actually made a joke.  This is the most boring moment in my entire life so far, and that’s counting _The People’s Choice Awards_.  Maybe if I bite my nails the time will go faster.  Maybe if I gesticulate a lot when I speak the time will go faster.  Maybe if I take out a submachine gun—

            “This question is for JC.” 

            “What?  Oh, yeah, go ahead.”

            “What do you think of the fanfictions written about you and your fellow boybanders?” 

            “Well, first of all, we’re not a boyband—”

            “Yes, yes.  You’re a ‘vocal group.’ I get it.”  Is this bitch serious?  “Now, about those fanfictions?”  If I rub my temples _really_ hard, maybe she’ll disappear!

            “I think it’s great that our fans have so much creativity.” 

            “So, do you ever read them?” What? Someone else wants to ask about this too? 

            “I may have glanced at one or two.”  Is it getting warm in here?  “Like I said, our fans are very creative.”  There!  “Next question.”

            “Yeah…the ones you read…did you like them or not?”  I give the other guys my special “take this question before I throw a hissy fit” glare.

            “Good question,” Chris says, now perked up again.  “What _did_ you think, JC?”

            “I thought they were…” Be careful.  “Very…interesting.”

            “What was that?” some dipshit person out there says.  “We couldn’t make out what you said through your clenched teeth!”

            “Interesting!  I said interesting!  Next question, please.”

            “In regards to the fanfictions…ever read the slash stuff?”  Where the fuck is Johnny?

            “What ever do you mean, slash stuff?” Justin says with feigned ignorance.

            “You know, Justin, the ones where we have sex with each other,” Joey says nonchalantly.

            “Gee, Joey,” Chris says with mock surprise.  “How did you know _that_?”  Joey blushes and looks at me.

            “JC told me!”  Mother pussbucket!

            “Look, people, can we please get on with this?” I say as a hubbub rises out in the press pit.  What are they writing down?  Ugh!  “Does anyone have any questions related to our upcoming album?” A hand goes up.  Finally!

            “Yes.  On the new album, will there be any songs about slash fiction?” 

            “What’s the matter with you people?  Are you all on crack?”

            “Speaking of crack—”

            “Don’t you dare!”

            “I’ll answer that one,” Lance says, thank God.  “Our newest single, ‘Write me a story,’ was inspired by the night we all discovered slash—”

            “Lance!” I scream, before I remember myself.  I cover my mike with my hand.  “What are you doing?  Don’t tell them that!” 

            “But they asked!”

            “JC is so shy,” Justin says, patting me on the back.  “Yeah folks, at first he thought it was gross.  But after the fourth or fifth gay sex scene, he was all over it!”

            “Shut up!  I was not!”

            “Don’t you remember?” Joey says, putting his feet up on the table in front of us.  “You said you wanted me to be your bitch.”

            “Dammit, I said you _would_ be my bitch, not that I wanted you to—that’s it!  I’m outta here!”  I start to stand up, until I feel a pair of hands push me back down into the chair.

            “Play nice now,” Johnny whispers to me.  “What will the press think if you walk out?”

            “I don’t give a sh—can’t you stop this?” I plead with him.

            “Stop what?  This is going great!” he says with a broad smile, giving me the thumbs up.  Is this some as yet undiscovered ring of hell?

            “Yeah, we stayed up all night reading *Nsync slash stories, didn’t we fellas?” Chris says, and the other three shake their heads like they were just asked if the sky was blue.  I guzzle the glass of water in front of me in two seconds.

            “What do you like the best about it?” someone out there asks. 

            “That’s a tough one,” Joey says, looking thoughtful. “Hmm.  I guess I’d have to say the descriptive, hot, sticky visuals.”  I cover my ears with my hands, but it doesn’t help.

            “I like the ones where we switch partners every chapter!” Justin says, beaming.  “That way, all the guys get a chance to sample the Juju lovin’!”

            “Have you no shame?” I mumble.

            “I like the romantic ones,” Lance says as he files his nails.  Will the torture never cease?  “Where one of us starts out having a secret crush on another one, who really has a secret crush back.  And the other three figure it out and try to help the two get together,” he says, becoming more animated with every word.  “And then something happens to make them admit their love—like one of us is kidnapped or shot or hung on a meathook or something.”

            “Oooh, that was a good one!” Chris sighs wistfully.

            “Yeah!  And then invariably the two secret lovers end up sharing a hotel room together, and something really sexy comes on Cinemax, and one thing leads to another, and then—”

            “Bang city, baby!”  Dammit, Justin.

            “Is that realistic?” one of the reporters asks.  “I mean, that you would be sharing a hotel room?  Don’t you guys each have your own rooms?”  Johnny comes out of the woodwork and takes a microphone.

            “Back in the old days it was a matter of practicality.  But my boys bring in so much bling-bling, they could have whole floors to themselves if they wanted,” he says to the mile-wide grins of my four insane partners.  “No, they actually _prefer_ to share rooms nowadays.  They told me it’s more… _intimate_.”

            “Johnny!  Are you insane?” I scream at him.

            “Chill out, man,” he says calmly, still speaking into the mike.  “It’s not like I told them about the slumber parties you guys have.”  I think I may be sick.  The press is in an uproar.  One of them stands up.

            “I’m from _Rolling Stone_ , and I have a _serious_ question!”

            “Thank you,” I whisper, looking at her through my fingers as I try to hide.

            “Yeah…um…who initiated these slumber parties?  And is there any hanky-panky going on?”  Uncontrollable shaking and sweating.  Could I be, finally, having a nervous breakdown?

            “Don’t worry, Jayce,” Justin says, patting my head that I’m now covering with my arms.  Maybe if I sit underneath this table this madness will stop.  “The press doesn’t have to know the slumber parties were _your_ idea—oops.  Is my mike still on?”

            “Dammit!  It was one or two all-night ‘brainstorming sessions’, people!  One or two!  Are you allowed to ask us these questions?”

            “Don’t piss off the press, man,” Chris says under his breath.  “They could print stuff that isn’t too flattering!”

            “Oh, and this crap _is_?”

            “Yeah, uh, can we get back to the slash?” another reporter yells.  “How accurate are slash writers’ descriptions of you?”

            “Well,” Lance says, “they always seem to know what color our hair is from week to week.”

            “No, I meant really personal information—in relation to the explicit scenes.”

            I stand up defiantly.  “If any of you have a brain you will not answer that quest—”

            “Well, I don’t know about the others,” Joey starts, “but the slash writers really have me down well.  My only complaint is…they could be a little less stingy with the _dimensions_ , if you know what I’m saying.”

            “Ha, that’s not a problem with me,” Justin says proudly, then leans in close to his microphone.  “And to Timbalovin16, wherever you are— _thank you_!”

            “Are you guys trying to make me cry?  Is that it?” I beg.

            “I’m sure I speak for a lot of slash writers when I say that accuracy is very important,” says a thirty-something looking woman in the audience.  “We’d all appreciate it if you could verify some pertinent information so that our future stories could be more factually based.”

            “Guys,” I say, staring at my bandmates with pleading eyes, “let’s get out of here before—”

            “What do you wanna know?” Chris says as he, too, puts his feet up on the table like he plans to stay a while.  “We’ve got nothing to hide.”

            “Ok, then,” says the reporter, smiling wickedly.  She looks at her notes.  “For starters, who has the hairiest chest?  And who is built like a girly-man?”

            “I don’t fucking believe this—”

            “Um,” Joey says, thinking hard, “I don’t know if I can answer that question.  It’s been a few days since we’ve all been naked in front of each other.”

            “Joey!  For the love of God!” I shriek, collapsing back in my chair.

            “What color are everyone’s nipples?” she continues.  I can feel the chunks start to assemble at the bottom of my throat as the other four shrug, stand up, and pull up their shirts for the audience.  Those bastards out there are actually taking notes!  Another one of them stands up.

            “Yeah, _Slash Writer’s of America Magazine_ …any of you uncut?”  Chris starts to open his mouth, but I knock him upside the head just in time.  But the inane questions just keep coming.

            “Who likes to give and or receive spankings?”

            “Any of you talkers?”

            “Who has the largest hands and feet?”

            “Does anyone have any piercings in interesting places?”

            “C’mon guys!  Boxers, briefs, or boxer briefs?”

            “What brand of lubricant does JC favor?”

            “Ok, that’s enough!” I jump up out of my seat and grab a handheld and peer out into the—damn, there must be three or four hundred people here!  “You people have gone too far!  You have no right to ask us these personal questions.  Just because we’re in the public eye does not mean we should have to divulge such intimate details of our lives.  We are living, breathing people, just like you!  And we deserve our privacy.  All we want to do is make our music and bring a little joy into the world without having to look over our shoulders every second, without having to worry that every misstep, every vice, every indiscretion will become fodder for tabloid TV.  I think we deserve that much.  I _know_ we do!”  The audience is quiet, absolutely quiet.  I think I very well may have reached them.  I hear clapping—it’s Johnny!  And now Justin…and Lance…and…the entire auditorium is clapping.  They’re clapping for me!  For truth!  For honesty!  Oh, finally!

            “That was beautiful, Josh,” Justin says, patting my hand as I sit back in my seat.  It feels good to make a difference.  When the ovation finally dies down, one of the reporters stands up slowly.

            “Thank you for that most enlightening comment.  I think I speak for all of the press when I say…things are much clearer now,” he says thoughtfully.  I can make out a lot of nodding, smiling heads out there.  I can breathe again.

            “Thank you so much,” I say.  “And your question?”

            “My question for you, JC, is this: how long have you and Lance been lovers?”

            “Motherf—c’mon, you!  You want a piece of me?”  Oh, _now_ our security guards step in!  Where the hell have they been?  “Let go of me, guys!  I’m gonna rip that little shit’s head off!”  The little prick just smirks and sits down as I struggle in vain.

            “I’ll answer that question!” Lance says calmly.  “JC and I are _not_ lovers.”  Oh, thank God!  “We have _never_ kissed, felt each other up, exchanged bodily fluids, or woken up, hungover, amnesic, and naked on top of each other in the backseat of a 1987 Chrysler Le Baron behind an International House of Pancakes in Cherry Hill, New Jersey.  Never.”

            “Oh…oh…” And now I’m crying.  I’m such a pussy.  I know this because Sexual Chocolate _tell me_ as much as they drop me on my head.  I get to my feet and look at the guys.  They just shake their heads at me.

            “You could have told me, you know,” Justin says. 

            “Why didn’t you trust us?” Chris asks, and dares to look hurt.  Joey looks perplexed.

            “You mean…that happened to _you_ , too?”

            “Dammit, nothing happened!” I scream at them—the press—everyone!  “You guys are making a mountain out of a molehill!  It was nothing!”

            “That’s not what you said that morning,” Lance mumbles.  Remind self to seriously kick his ass later.

            “Is this what you want, you slash writers?” I say, totally defeated.  “You want us to cheat on our girlfriends…ruin our friendships…threaten our careers…enter into relationships that are doomed before they start…just to satisfy a ‘curiosity’?  You want us to give in to every temptation, no matter how small?  To act on every impulse, no matter how new or uncomfortable?  You want us to surrender at every sight of flawless, velvety skin…bright, soulful eyes…soft, sweet-smelling hair…luscious lips…rippling abs…ass so tight you can bounce a penny—dammit!  Is that what you so-called writers want?  Because that’s what’s going to happen!  You’re sending out all this homoerotic energy into the cosmos, directed right at _us_ , and like a butterfly flapping its’ wings, eventually there’s gonna be a typhoon up in somebody’s hotel room!  Is that what you _want_?” The guys stare at me, totally shocked.  I think I shocked myself.  A woman suddenly jumps up, red-faced, and waving her…wallet?

            “How much…would I have to pay…to see that happen…right _now_?”

            “I’ve got $325 on me!” screams another.  “Is that enough for a Joey-Chris sandwich?”

            “Say the word and I’ll cash in my savings bonds!”

            “My kid’s college fund has gotta be worth over ten thou!  Let’s see some action!” 

            “I’ve got a Rolex worth $5000 for any two of you that will go to second base right here, right now!  That’s tax-free income, baby!  You can score a lot of speed with that, JC!” 

            And so it is.  Hundreds of adults… _adults_ …screaming at each other and flourishing wads of money, taking out checkbooks…and credit cards.   I look over at Justin, Lance, Joey and Chris.  They seem so calm, listening patiently to requests for deep tongue kisses, topless bear hugs, nipple twisting, and…sweet Jesus.  Someone just offered her first-born child for the chance to witness a gangbang.  I can’t hear anymore, I’m sobbing so loudly.  I think I’ll just crawl under this table. Yes, I’ll curl up in a ball.  I’m just gonna curl up in a ball…and close my eyes…and suck my thumb.  Yes…the rocking is nice, so nice.  Josh safe now.  And warm.  Thumb taste good.  Safe.  Mommy?

 

            The limousine ride to the airport was completely silent.  All five members of *Nsync sat silently, sunglasses on in midmorning, wrapped up in their own thoughts.  They each found their own spots on a window or the floor and concentrated on it, avoiding each other’s eyes.

            “Guys, I…” JC started nervously.  He closed his eyes and thought about what he would say, how they’d react…and especially, what he could omit.  “Nevermind.”  As the limo crossed a bridge, the traffic volume started to build, forcing them to slow down.  They came to a halt right alongside a very large billboard. The boys all looked up at it at the very same time, and gasped.  It was of the Backstreet Boys; the same as in the video for “The call.”  The look on their 20-foot faces was absolutely come-hither.  Underneath them were the words “…to come see them on tour.”  On top: “BACKSTREET BOYS WANT YOU!!!!”

            JC couldn’t take it anymore.

            “Guys, I had a horrible dream last night and you were all in it and people were screaming about slash and they wanted us to do things to each other just like in the orgy story and I was freaking out and I wrote the whole dream down but I don’t know if I should have maybe I should ask my shrink about that when I get home but anyway I don’t know what it means and everyone wanted us to be gay which I still don’t get at all and it was really upsetting and I probably shouldn’t even tell you guys this but I couldn’t keep it in any longer and I just think we have to do something about this before I really freak out!”  They all looked at each other with wide open mouths for a long time.

            “I had a slash dream, too,” Lance said modestly.

            “So did I!” screamed Joey.

            “Get the fuck out! Me, too!” Chris screamed.

            “I dreamt that I was a drug dealing, gay porn star—does that count?” Justin said.

            “I do believe it does,” JC said excitedly.  They breathed a collective sigh of relief.

            “So…what does this mean?” Lance asked.  “You can’t tell me that I really want to marry Chris and raise sheep in Montana.”  Chris turned a strange color.

            “I…I have nothing to say to that.”

            “Good,” Justin grunted.  “That’s a first.”

            “I dreamt we were all naked in front of each other,” Joey sighed.  “Do you think that my love for musicals has finally taken its toll?”

            “Depends on how _big_ you made us,” Chris said.  Joey looked at his feet.

            “What about you, Chris?” JC asked.

            “Mine wasn’t too bad.  Lance was a female dominatrix.  You were Elton John.  Joey was in a dress, and Justin was Black.”

            “Yeah, boy!” Justin said, hi-fiving his older friend.

            “So you wrote the whole thing down?” Chris asked JC.

            “Yeah…as much as I could remember,” JC sighed. “I don’t _want_ to remember.”

            “Can we read it?” Lance asked, giggling.

            “I…I don’t know.”

            “C’mon, man!  I’ll let you read mine,” Joey said excitedly.

            “You wrote yours down too?”

            “Yeah, man.  I busted out that bad boy while it was still fresh in my brain.  Hell, I might want to publish it.  You know…years from now, when money gets tight…tell-all book!”

            “But it was just a dream,” Justin said nervously.

            “The public won’t know that!” Joey said with dollar signs in his eyes.

            “Oh, like anyone would pay any of _us_ to write a stupid book!” Justin laughed.

            “I think Joey’s on to something,” Chris said.  “That’s why I wrote mine down, too.”

            “When did you do that?” asked JC.

            “You were still dead asleep.  I got on your computer, wrote the whole thing out, and emailed it to myself and you didn’t even notice.”

            “How did you…but you need to know my password!”

            “Easy.  _French Horn_.”  Justin bit his lip.  Hard.

            “I jotted down some notes, but I didn’t want to write it out completely,” Lance said, then lowered his voice.  “In case it got into the wrong hands.”

            “And I thought Josh was the paranoid one,” Justin said.  “I would have written mine out, but I was too wasted from those pills Joey gave me, thank you very much!”

            “You were _wasted_ on Nyquil, you spazz!  Don’t blame your perverted dreams on me,” Joey said.  “You didn’t hit on me in that dream, did you?”

            “Shut up!” Justin screamed.  “I don’t…think so.”

            “The only reason I wrote it down was to try to make sense of it,” JC said seriously.  “We must have all been really freaked out yesterday after running into the BSB—”

            “The BSB?” Chris repeated.  “What, is that our little pet name?”

            “Kevin and AJ and Nick were in love with me in my dream.  So were all of you,” Lance said frankly.

            “That’s because _everyone’s_ always in love with you in the slash stories,” Justin said, rolling his eyes.  “A brother can’t catch a break with _you_ in there.”

            “How do you know that?” inquired Joey.  “I thought you didn’t read them!”

            “I…I…I may have accidentally come upon one or two,” Justin replied.

            “Why can’t we just admit that we _all_ read them?” JC blurted out exasperatedly.  Silence.  Anxious glances.  “Um…that we’ve all read one or two…and that we skipped over the explicit gay sex?”

            “Yeah, ok,” Chris agreed.

            “I’ll admit to that,” Joey sighed.

            “And we always read a wholesome, straight Mary Sue afterwards,” Justin added.

            “And we never review or beg the authors for more chapters,” Lance said.

            “Nope, never,” JC laughed.  “You know what, we should probably write all this stuff down...or turn it into a story and post it online.  That would be really funny.”  The five friends thought about that for a second, then grinned at each other knowingly.

            “Hey, Chris,” Joey asked all of a sudden, “that dress you had me in—how did my legs look?”

 

 

Chapter 7


	7. *Nsync does it again - Chapter 7

*Nsync does it again

Epilogue

 

            “This…is _not_ good.”

            Four-fifths of *Nsync just stared at the other fifth in silence, too exhausted to argue with him.  They’d been assembled in Joey’s living room for hours, writing and revising and putting together a completely original piece of “fiction” on Joey’s overworked laptop.  Things were not going well.

            “What about it isn’t good, JC?” Joey asked as he rolled his eyes.

            “Ok, well, for one thing, the word you were looking for in this AJ/Nick scene has two l’s in it, not one, and why the hell are they eating pistachios during it?”

            “Because I wanted it to rhyme!” Joey said defensively.  “You know, a little pistachio during the fel—”

            “But this isn’t a song, it doesn’t have to rhyme!” JC bellyached.

            “It makes it nicer,” Joey said as he looked at his printout of the story-in-progress.  “Besides, I couldn’t think of anything that rhymes with ‘handjob.’”

            “Forget that then,” JC said as he scrolled down the page.  “In the shower scene, why does Chris keep yelling things like ‘ _Copulate_ _with_ me’ and ‘ _Stimulate_ me harder’ to Justin?” 

            “Uh, ask Lance why,” Joey said with a smirk.  JC turned to a bright pink Lance.

            “I thought the language was a little…vulgar…so I changed a few words,” Lance said proudly.  “We were collaborating on that section after all.”

            “Sissy-boy did a find/replace word search on that chapter,” Joey said.

            “How can you call Lance a sissy boy after reading his chapter with the Kevin/JC sandwich?” Chris said. 

            “Thank you!” Lance said proudly.

            “I’m sure JC thanks you too, isn’t that right?” Chris said, smiling, to JC, who turned pink himself.

            “His descriptions of my anatomical…proportions…were generous,” JC said demurely, “and yet, I’m happy to say, surprisingly accurate.”

            “Sounds like someone’s been peeking during costume changes,” Justin snickered.

            “Don’t even go there!” Lance said as he reached over the laptop keyboard and double clicked on Justin’s contribution.  “This hayloft seduction scene with you and Brian seems just a little _too_ real, if you ask me.  How do you know how many moles he has on his stomach?”

            “It’s called artistic license, dipshit!” Justin cracked.  “I didn’t complain when Chris wrote me as having a hairy ass.”

            “That’s because you _have_ a hairy ass!” Chris quipped.

            “Not as hairy as Joey,” muttered Justin.

            “Hey, don’t bring me into your lover’s quarrel,” Joey snapped, “or else I’ll write you two out of the harem scene!  You wouldn’t want to miss your turn with Sultan Howie, would you?” he laughed.  Chris and Justin quickly stopped squabbling and mumbled “hell no.”

            “Look, guys, we really should stop all this bickering if we’re gonna finish this thing tonight,” JC said, sounding frustrated.  “I don’t want to be still thinking about this when the tour starts next week.  I might freak out on stage or something.”

            “What are you talking about?” Justin said, winking to the others.  “You freak out on stage every night.  It’s what _you_ seem to call—dancing.”

            “I’ll dance all over your hairy ass in a minute,” JC said half-menacingly.

            “Oooh…promise?” Justin sighed flirtatiously.  “Lance could watch and type it up as we go along!”  Lance looked at Justin curiously.  “You’re the fastest typist.”

            “Yes,” Lance said proudly, displaying his lovely milky white fingers, “I can do a lot of stuff fast with these hands.”  The color drained out of his face as soon as he said it.

            “Oh, I can’t resist that!” Chris laughed as he sat down in front of the computer and started typing away.  “Just gave me an idea for the next chapter.  Lance, Nick Carter, and JC compete for the title of ‘Dickdraw McGraw : the Fastest Hands in the West’—God, I’m good!”

            “Hey, don’t put me in there!” JC whined.

            “Take it like a man,” Chris snapped. 

            “Speaking of which, have we written any women into this incredibly sick and sex-obsessed story yet?” Joey asked.  They all looked at each other curiously.

            “Were we…supposed to?” Justin asked.

            “Do we want to?” Lance asked.  Silence befell the room as the five smut authors thought about that question real, _real_ hard.

            “Damn,” Joey finally said.  “What does that imply about us then?  I like women!  I _still_ like women!”

            “Of course you do, Joe” JC said reassuringly.

            “Yeah!” Joey said emphatically.  He looked down at the story.  “How come no one’s done me yet in this thing?  What, nobody wants to ride the Italian Stallion?”

            “What are you talking about?” Justin said as he flipped through his papers.  “You and me go at it in the barn for like two hours after the AJ/Chris/pitchfork scene!”

            “Oh,” Joey said, smiling.  “Good.”

            “Really, though, what _does_ this mean?” Lance asked.  “I mean think about it.  Why did Backstreet Boys write their slash story in the first place?  Why did we read it?  Why did we have those crazy dreams two nights ago?”

            “What are you saying, that we want to be gay?” Chris asked.  “I can’t be gay—I’m too short.”  To his friends’ bewildered stares he added, “Plus, I’m not cute enough.”

            “Oh yes you are!” Justin said with a wink.  “Oh, God, make me shut up.”

            “I don’t think it means anything like that,” JC said carefully.  “But you have to admit that it’s a safe way to explore one’s homoerotic tendencies.”  He regretted it as soon as it left his mouth.

            “I don’t _have_ any homoerotic tendencies!” Joey protested.

            “Yes you do, everyone does,” Lance said, half-convincingly.

            “If Joey doesn’t have any, than neither do I!” said Chris.

            “Me, either!” Justin added.

            “Chris, you must have read somewhere in some Psych book about stuff like this, and how it’s normal for straight people to have erotic thoughts about people of the same sex from time to time—right?” JC asked, pleaded.

            “You’ve been surfing the _wrong_ sites on the Net, my friend!” Chris said.

            “Oh, you’re gonna tell me you’ve never had a sexy dream about another guy,” Lance said accusingly.  “Never…in your life?  Be honest.”  Chris thought about it while the others waited nervously.

            “Well…once I dreamt that Mr. Rogers was giving me a bath,” Chris confessed.

            Lanced chuckled.  “I’m not sure if childhood fantasies count—”

            “I was 25 years old.”

            “Jesus God in heaven,” Joey whispered as he crossed himself.

            “I think I’d be flattered if another straight guy had sexy thoughts about me,” Justin said thoughtfully.

            “You would!” JC chimed in.  “You want _everybody_ to want you.”

            “Not everybody!  I don’t want _you_ to want me!”  JC looked crestfallen.

            “Damn, you dissed the Spazz!” Joey laughed.

            “That was harsh, Justin,” said Lance.

            “If your friends won’t go down on you, then who will?” JC sighed, plopping down on the couch and pouting.

            “You _bastard_ ,” Chris hissed at Justin, who rolled his eyes and sat down next to JC, who was feigning disappointment rather effectively.

            “I’m sorry,” Justin mumbled under the approving glares of Chris, Lance, and Joey.  “I would be honored if you wanted to…ugh… _do stuff_ to me.”

            “ _And_?” JC whimpered.

            “And…if I was going to do said stuff with another…guy,” he said barely above a whisper, “then I would definitely pick you first,” he said with his eyes shut tight.  “I am definitely going to hell for this.”

            “It certainly would make the most sense,” Chris said.  “You guys are up late, you abuse some substance, you get all giggly, you play some strip poker, and sooner or later, your tongues are in each other’s mouths.”  JC and Justin winced and quickly slid away from each other on the couch.  “What I’m saying, dumdums, is if you had such inclinations, it would be safer to diddle with each other than with someone on the outside.”

            “That’s what I was saying, I think,” Lance said.

            “Containment,” Joey said.  “You got 4 other hot guys right at your disposal—”

            “Nine if you count BSB,” added Chris.

            “Yeah, nine guys with just as much to lose as you, who understand the pressure, who share your love of harmonies and mildly violent video games, and who won’t go blabbing to anyone— _anyone_ —if something _accidentally_ happens in someone’s basement after watching _G-String Divas_ on HBO.”

            “Oh my God,” JC whispered.

            “I was speaking hypothetically!”  Joey yelled.  “But if someone wants to use that in the story, be my guest.”

            “Mr. Rogers, man?” JC said to Chris.  “That’s sick!”

            “I couldn’t help it.  The way he stares at you, and takes that sweater on and off, and always says he loves you.  It’s hypnotic!” Chris shrieked.

            “I was always partial to Mr. Greenjeans on Captain Kangaroo,” Joey said wistfully.  “I still look at green colored jeans…and…sigh.”

            “I dreamt that a semi-famous thirty-something actor made a pass at me at a party,” Lance said.  “Oh wait—that actually happened.  Last week.  Gee, I’m a stud.”

            “What did you do?” asked Justin.

            “He hid in the bathroom until the guy left,” Joey said.  “Wuss.”

            “I wasn’t hiding.  I…I’d had a bran muffin for breakfast and—”

            “Too much information,” said Chris.

            “Let’s just finish this thing,” Justin said, yawning.  “I’m tired.  Unless we’re having another slumber party.”  JC clutched his stomach.

 

            Joey, Justin, Chris and JC watched, exhausted but contented, as Lance typed the words THE END at the conclusion of their magnum opus.  It had taken all night, but they finally compiled and edited their ten-chapter, fifty page slash masterpiece.

            “It’s…it’s beautiful,” JC said warmly. 

            “Like a Grammy winning song that we all wrote…together,” Lance sighed.

            “A song with an average of three explicit acts of man on man sex per page,” Joey said with a yawn.

            “I’m so proud,” Chris beamed.  “I feel like smoking.”

            “This is so much better than ‘O-town orgy.’ Backstreet won’t know what hit them when they read this!” Justin said, clapping his hands.  The other four loudly concurred.

            “Alright, let’s go online and post this thing!” Joey said as he clicked on his ISP.  They all fidgeted as Joey signed on to fanfiction.net under *Nsync’s agreed-upon pseudonym, TotallyStr8.  “Hey, guys, we have to give this thing a title.”

            “How about ‘Boybands in heat’?” suggested Chris.

            “You mean ‘ _Vocal groups_ in heat’, don’t you?” JC snapped.

            “You can be so annoying sometimes.”

            “What about ‘*Nsync gives it to Backstreet Boys Butt Good’…get it?  Butt good?  B…U…T…T good?” Justin said excitedly.

            “We get it, we get it,” Joey said.  “That’s gross.  I like it.”

            “How about…‘*Nsync does it again’?” Lance said.  Silence.  Then ear to ear grins.

            “Perfect,” Justin said.

            “Absolutely,” JC agreed.

            “Yeah, I like it, too,” said Chris.

            “Wouldn’t ‘*Nsync does it _in the butt_ again’ be better?” Joey asked.  He was answered only with groans and moans, so he gave in, titled the _slashus fictius_ , and sent it on its way.

            “Well…that’s it.  It’s over,” JC said softly.

            “Thank God,” Lance said.  “No more nightmares.”

            “First thing tomorrow, I’m getting laid,” said Joey.  “By a girl!”

            “Me, too,” Chris said, yawning, then putting his arm around Justin.  “Doesn’t have to be a girl, though.”

            “Take a number, you know JC is first,” Justin said, unflappably.

            “Thanks, man.  I’ll let you know on that,” JC said with a grin.   Just then an instant message popped up from a user called 5forJive.  The guys read it all together:

 

_So you finally joined in the fun?  Can’t wait to read all of it._

_\--You KNOW who_

_PS: We’ll meet again…in yet another elevator!  Unless of course you guys wanna go to a private chat room…_

The five members of *Nsync stared at the screen for a long, long time.  Eventually, Joey logged off, and shut down his computer.  They silently gathered their belongings, cleaned up after themselves, and left Joey’s place as it was before.  Though they never said it out loud, they all had the same thought: stay away from slash, and stay far away from the Backstreet Boys.  Of course they knew their rivals were joking, and were only interested in slash fiction for the same reasons they were.  But it never hurt to be safe, just in case.  And it never hurt to have a good memory.  5forJive.  Just in case.

 

 

The End

 

Copyright April 2001 by KTA

**Author's Note:**

> April 2001.


End file.
